On Norwegian bureaucracy...

It's no secret that I do not take pleasure in, nor have any talent for, the bureaucratic, form-filling, official part of life. But after our second Trans-Atlantic move, both Menno and I have at least some experience with dealing with red tape in another country. So, we were less concerned about the daunting task of becoming "official persons" in Norway then we were when we moved to Canada. We found out quickly, though, that this confidence was in fact hubris in it's most concentrated form...

Whether it was the notion that Norway, although not part of the European Union, still counted as Europe, or whether Canadian customer service had tricked us into thinking we were seasoned form fillers, I still don't know. I do know, however, that our confidence crashed hard and fast after only a couple of weeks in Norway. Due to our moving schedule, it was Menno's confidence to crash first. He told me about his struggles during numerous phone calls over the months that I was in Holland with the girls, but as I was at that point knee-deep in my own murky-house-selling-situation, I did not fully grasp the severity of the situation. Plus, I also thought that with all beginnings being hard, it was actually nice to have Menno as a test case to become a Norwegian official person. So that when the girls and I finally made it up North, we could use Menno's experience to navigate around the pitfalls and potholes of newcomer issues.

Again. Hubris.

The first step for me and the girls was to get "our number". In Norway, the number of numbers is called the Fødselsnummer. One obtains this by first going to the police to get a number that allows you to be in Norway (of course if you are not a European citizen, you have to fill in a shitload of forms to get the right immigration papers, but this did not apply to us). Once you have the police number, you go to the tax office to apply for your Fødselsnummer. This Fødselsnummer will then grant you access to all things official. One should not lose it, because you can only obtain it once. The paper should be kept at home at all times. Except for the times that you have to bring it to official institutions. And no, knowing the number by heart is not enough. Only problem is that you never know what official institution will need the official Fødselsnummer paper, so you take it with you more often than one with my knack for misplacing things feels comfortable with...

Anyhow, the girls and I successfully went through step one and two of obtaining our Fødselsnummer. Step three would only consist of us receiving our numbers in the mail in about 2 weeks time. Now, any time indication given by a Norwegian official institution is actually a word for a completely random number of days that have but one defining feature; the number of days will be more than the number of days indicated in the time indication.

The arrival of our Fødselsnummers was highly anticipated, because it would unlock doors to services like our family's healthcare and signing up for the girls' schools. After four weeks, we finally received the first sign that our papers might be on their way. A sign in the form of a notification from Post Nord (the Norwegian postal service) that there was important post for Rachel Spanjers which could not be delivered to our post box, because Rachel Spanjers was not yet registered on any Norwegian address. The notification told us our options to register me as a post-worthy entity in Norway. But guess what? That's right. In order to register myself at our address, I needed my Fødselsnummer. Which was currently on its way to us. By post. In fact, the particular enveloppe that prompted Post Nord to send us the notification that mail to Rachel Spanjers was undeliverable, might very well be the enveloppe containing the letter with my Fødselsnummer. Please tell us, Mr Heller? Do we have a Catch 22 situation on our hands here?

In the end we managed to receive our Fødselsnummer enveloppe and emboldened by this I decided to go all out and deal with some other stuff. Like, say, register myself as a job seeker. (So far an unsuccessful endeavour, but there will be a blog post about my adventures in job seeking land, soon!) Register for child support. And open a bank account, so the child support could be deposited in my account, giving me a semblance of "pay" for the fact that I keep my kids alive until bedtime every day.

After our struggle with The Post, I was happily surprised when Menno informed me that banks in Norway are very much automated. Lots of internet banking and the likes. Sweet, that makes things a lot easier, right? Right. Think again...

When I walked into the bank to open my bank account, I was met by a rather stern looking, middle aged lady. I told her right away that I had just moved to Norway and that I spoke little English. To which her eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion and she continued on in Norwegian. Perhaps a little slower than she had spoken before, but I am not entirely sure about that. After filling in some forms, though, I left the premises with the impression that I had actually succeeded in opening a bank account...either that, or I had joined in a hedgefund.

The first sign of successful account application came by old fashioned mail. Turns out I needed to fill in a couple more forms. And, as an extra bonus, I received a link to an English file containing the terms and conditions for opening an account at the bank. So no hedgefund, whew... Some time later, I received three separate text messages from the bank. One to inform me that I should download 2 apps and two with no less than three passwords. "Great", I thought, "the cyber scam artists have found me before I even received my bank card..." So, I decided to forget about those texts until I got some sort of proof that it was no hoax. Which came yet a couple of days later in the form of a text message that informed me that my bank card was on it's way via regular mail and should be there in a couple of days. A week later, that card indeed showed up (more than a month after I went to the bank to open my account).

Giddy with excitement about the prospect that if I should ever come in possession of some kroner to call my own, I could actually keep them somewhere safe, I looked for the information on where to find my PIN code for my card. And that's when things got really complicated. The letter accompanying my bankcard informed me I could find my PIN code on my own personal, yet to be created, page on the bank's website. At which point I decided to consult Menno. He had, after all, supposedly gone through all the same steps when he got his bank account. So, he asked me if I had received any text messages. Well, sir, as a matter of fact I had!

Proudly I showed him the text messages (all in Norwegian, of course) and started downloading the suggested apps on my phone. Meanwhile, Menno got onto the bank's website, to get me started. But no matter how hard we tried, I could not log on with any of the codes provided. They were all "ulopt" it seemed (expired). So, that left me with little choice but to go back to the bank to get some help in person.

Back at the bank, I was met, again, by a stern-looking, middle-aged lady. Drat. This did not bode well. Call me prejudiced and judgmental, but in matters of online banking, I'd much rather deal with a 20-year-old geeky Steve Jobbs look-a-like. Instead, this librarian-lady asked me what she could do for me. I informed her in my best Norwegian (again, my mention that I spoke little Norwegian got only a cocked eyebrow in response) that apparently my passwords were "ulopt". So, she walked me over to a computer at the branch and asked me to show her wether I had indeed downloaded the apps. She then told me to go to the bank's website, click on log-in and start the process. However, my codes did not work (told you so). So, she took me to a little office and made sure that I was who I said I was, before ordering a new set of passwords. She then explained to me in rapid Norwegian the multiple steps, all involving passwords, to get online and happening at the bank. Without waiting for me to give any indication of having actually understood her ramblings, she told me to delete all the text messages I had received so far from the bank, so as not to have any mix ups when the new codes arrived.

So I did. And retreated to the waiting area, while Mrs. McGonagall helped out some other sorry souls. Once I received the text messages, I proceeded to the computers to try out my new codes! Alas... One code still appeared to be AWOL. So now what? The lady who had helped me out was now helping other customers and did not give me as much as a sideways glance. Still, I was missing a code and giving up so close to my goal would be very sad... Heeding all warnings about never disturbing a working librarian, I cleared my throat and waved at her with an apologetic smile plastered over my face. And hurray! She came over!

I told her that I was still missing one of my codes. I showed her what I meant, taking her through the various steps in my log-in process. Whenever I had to type in a password, she demurely looked the other way, lest she should see, memorize and be tempted to use my passwords again to, well, steal the zero kroner that were in my account ;-) I mentally crossed "becoming a bank employee" off my list of possible jobs in Norway for the sole reason that I simply would not be able to control my curiosity impulse in the way this lady had just demonstrated. Arriving at the bottleneck step with the missing pass code, the lady asked me to show her my text messages again. She asked if I had ever received a pass code that consisted of letters as well as numbers. I told her I had. But that I had deleted that text message half an hour ago as per her orders. She did an eye roll, told me to wait in the waiting area and ordered yet another new password for me.

The code arrived and I was finally able to log on, retrieve my pin code and start using my bank card! Too bad I had received a text message from Menno in the meantime, suggesting I would order BankID på mobil as well. This option would make online banking a lot easier, according to Menno. So I decided to go ahead and order that function, too. I felt like a true virtuoso behind the computer at the bank, clicking and typing in passwords like nobody's business! Bustin' the dope moves in online banking, ha!

Until I came to the part where I had to fill in my email address. Shoot. Now, as some of you know, the Norwegian alphabet has 3 extra letters. The å, the ø and the æ. Of course, that means that you need keyboard space to put those extra letters somewhere. I get that. But guess what symbol got kicked off the keyboard to make room for one of the above? Take a guess. Dingdong, you've got it! The @ is nowhere to be found on the Norwegian keyboard! Because who ever uses that symbol anyway, right?!

So there I was, again, trying to get the attention of my favourite middle-aged lady. I bowed my head in shame and told her the reason I asked her over, was because I could not find the @. She smiled and told me that this was an easy problem to solve. She pressed some random keys and came up with ~. She frowned, pressed another random key combination and came up with ‡. At this point, I was looking around for a hidden camera, I was sure someone was taking the piss out of me! After coming up with $, € and —, we finally made it to @ and I was able to complete my application for whatever it was that Menno said would make my online banking life easier...Right...

Now, I apologize if this blog post was tedious to read. I tried to pick out the more absurd-but-hilarious stories to convey my daily struggles with Norwegian bureaucracy. I am sorry to say that most of them are just absurd and/or tedious, though. Perhaps in a later blog post, I will try to shed some light as to where things get particularly hairy for a foreigner trying to navigate it's way through the Norwegian system, but for now I will just promise that my next blog post will be a lot more uplifting!